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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499939">Like Holding Glass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion'>Thealmostrhetoricalquestion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Background Relationships, Communication, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kissing, Love Languages, M/M, Mild Language, Next-Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:21:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James has been bobbing along for the majority of his life, blissfully unaware that love languages exist. In retrospect, that was probably a hint from the universe for everyone to keep schtum on the matter, since discovering them a month into his relationship with Teddy immediately propels him head-first into a minor crisis.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Sirius Potter &amp; Roxanne Weasley &amp; Dominique Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy &amp; James Sirius Potter, Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Love Languages Mini Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like Holding Glass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Notes! Oh, I don't have any. Except that I think I rated it higher for suggestive content/mild language etc, but it feels like a G, I've just done that to be safe. I will probably lower the rating once I stop worrying about it. And also this is very VERY self-indulgent and I hope everyone enjoys it because I certainly had a gleeful time writing these idiots.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>i.</em>
</p><p>It is Scorpius that propels James head-first into a minor crisis. He says <em>minor</em> crises because he isn’t really interested in having a major crisis, thanks very much; he’s more than happy to leave that for the more experienced members of his family, like Albus. It’s minor in the eyes of everyone else. It’s minor in the minds of everyone who doesn’t think with James’s white-hot instinctive conclusion-jumping, his steady unsurety blanketed by persistent, loving cheer. Anyone else would hear Scorpius rambling along and go: <em>ah, yes, I spy a minor crisis on the horizon.</em></p><p>But it doesn't really feel minor. </p><p>“—and then there’s Acts of Service, although that kind of feels like it’s a mix of a few of the other ones? But I suppose love is a universal thing, and it makes sense that there would be some overlap, because when you boil it down to the bare essentials, we’re simply separating the ways we show and receive care. I didn't really understand the big deal at first, but it’s important to understand it if we want to make people feel loved properly.”</p><p>Up until then, James hasn’t been paying attention. It’s a Friday night and Teddy’s got a late shift, and it’s not late enough to get properly drunk, but it’s also far too late to be sober, especially when faced with Scorpius’s eager account of his Uni lectures that week. There is a reason James hopped straight from Hogwarts to the Quidditch Pitch. It isn’t because he’s stupid or because he doesn’t care, but if he had to battle his way through a degree, he might end up a rampaging, weeping drunkard by the end of the first week. </p><p>But goldfish-attention-spans aside, something about the last sentence sparks his attention. </p><p>He peels his head off the breakfast bar and squints at his sad meal of chips and sausages, both portions of which are a little over-done. Burnt, if you want to be technical about it. By now, Scorpius is three points and a paragraph ahead, but James makes an attempt to reel him back in. </p><p>“Wait, wait, what was that?”</p><p>“What was what? About motion sensors? It’s a Muggle thing, and apparently it’s to do with electrons being knocked out when you shine a light on—”</p><p>“No, the other thing.” James turns his finger in the air, like it might rewind Scorpius’s hummingbird brain. “The service thing.”</p><p>“Oh!” Over the phone, he can hear Scorpius shifting at his desk, rolling the little wheels of his fancy ergonomic leather chair back and forth against the dorm room carpet. “You mean the Love Languages. Weren’t you listening? There are five main ones, and Acts of Service is one of them.”</p><p>“Yeah, that.” James eats a chip without much fanfare, grimacing at the stodgy taste; this is why Teddy isn’t allowed to take a late shift. James wastes away without his cooking. “You were saying you need to understand it if you want people to feel loved.”</p><p>“It works both ways, actually. People usually fall into one of the five categories. So somebody who shows and receives love through Acts of Service will feel most loved when someone else does small tasks for them. Like checking a report for them, or making them a cup of tea, or washing the dishes when they’re too tired to do it. If you don't know that your partner or your friend falls under Acts of Service, then you’ll probably show love through whichever one you connect with the most. And they might not see it, because that isn’t how they show love.”</p><p>James’s stomach sinks. He pushes the plate away, still listening but only with half an ear this time. </p><p>“And it’s the same in reverse. If you don't know your own Love Language, how are you supposed to communicate it to someone else, so they can appreciate it and make--”</p><p>“I have to go,” James says, before he shakes himself out of his little daze. “Sorry, buddy, I just realised I’ve got an early practice tomorrow, and I still haven’t showered or cleaned my kit.”</p><p>Scorpius makes a little disappointed noise, but says goodbye without much protest. No doubt he’ll call tomorrow and make up for the shorter phone call. James puts the phone down and stares at it for a bit. He scrapes most of his dinner in the bin. It’s not a crisis that he finds himself going through, exactly, but it’s something close to it. And it doesn’t feel minor. He even spends a good chunk of time staring thoughtfully out of the kitchen window, nibbling on one of Teddy’s biscuits. </p><p>In his mind, he watches himself put his hands all over Teddy, touching his arms and tucking their elbows together and putting his feet in Teddy’s lap while they watch the telly. Not once has Teddy told him to fuck off, but he’s also never…never said he <em>wants</em> all that. And it’s always James that moves first. Teddy isn’t a touchy person, but he does touch James because that’s what <em>James</em> wants. </p><p>But is it what Teddy wants?</p><p>“Don't be stupid,” James blurts out loud, staring at his own reflection in the window. It’s silly to doubt something like that. But the doubt still sits there, asking the same question over and over again, and he ends up groaning, running a hand through his hair and probably getting biscuit crumbs in it. He sends a mental swear word to Scorpius for ruining his evening. “Fucking smartarse Slytherin Uni students.”</p><p>Sighing to himself, he gives the phone a wide berth on his way to the shower.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>ii.</em>
</p><p>James and Teddy have been dating for a month and a half at this point. It shouldn’t feel new, considering they spent so much time together before they were dating that realistically, not much has changed. But it does feel new. It feels new and exciting and makes his heart race even after years of knowing each other, even after a whole month of getting to kiss Teddy silly whenever he feels like it. </p><p>He’s beginning to wonder whether Teddy even appreciates being kissed silly all the time. </p><p>“Okay,” Roxanne says, from the kitchen doorway, “I’m giving you ten seconds to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, and if the answer isn’t good enough, I’m setting fire to your Viktor Krum magazines.”</p><p>James pauses with his arse still sticking out of the cupboard door, leaning backwards into a crouch to peer suspiciously at her. </p><p>“You wouldn’t,” he says. </p><p>Roxanne holds up her wand, the smallest flame igniting at the very tip. “Every single dirty little page will go up in flames.”</p><p>James usually sleeps at Teddy’s house, the nice little townhouse that feels far two big for two men, let alone one man and his sad little plants, which is why James likes to brighten it up by singing and lounging over every surface. The flat he technically shares with Roxanne and Domi is reserved for when he’s got intense Quidditch training lined up for the week. Sleeping on his own is miserable now that he’s used to Teddy’s warm weight curled up against his chest, or the feeling of Teddy’s curls under his fingers when James wakes up first. But as lonely as his narrow twin bed is, it’s proved to be a good system. If he stays with Teddy, he’ll be distracted by Teddy’s arse instead of Quidditch plays and he’ll convince himself that it’s okay to eat a whole Vienetta between them, since ice cream evenings are romantic, and the Appleby dietician doesn’t have to know about his transgressions. </p><p>The only problem is, it’s not Quidditch season right now. He’s got practice, but nothing intense. And Teddy knows this. Pretty much everyone knows this. He’s got no excuse to be drifting aimlessly around his old flat, pouting and making a mess because he’s in distress, and yet he can’t make himself put on his big boy robes and deal with the problem. </p><p>James backs away from the kitchen cupboards, letting all the pots and pans float back into their place. Roxanne has a face like thunder, but she does put out her wand, and stops threatening him for long enough to demand a cup of tea. </p><p>“None of that herbal shit either,” Roxanne says, yawning widely as she leans against the table. “Did Domi not pick up all her stuff last night? I asked her a million times to clean it up.”</p><p>The table is always covered with Domi’s stuff, but admittedly it looks kinda bad this time. There’s nail polish lined up against the wall and a bunch of magazines almost slipping off the side of the table. Her knitting is piled up on top of the magazines, and there’s a broom polishing kit holding it all down so it doesn’t slip away and hit the floor. </p><p>“I’m not her keeper, but I’d say that’s a solid no,” James says, grinning. “You want sugar in this?”</p><p>Roxanne looks disgruntled, shifting away from the table so that she doesn’t knock anything over. She pleads for as much sugar as can fit in the cup, and James makes it as strong as he possibly can without ripping open the teabag and hands it over, hoping to make peace. It hits him, then, why she looks so tired, and guilt rises up in his chest.</p><p>“I forgot you had a night-shift,” James says, lowering his tone belatedly. “I was just stressed and taking it out on the cupboards.”</p><p>Roxanne slumps, shrugging. “S’fine. Needed to get up anyway. What’s wrong?”</p><p>Teddy knows instantly when something’s wrong with James. And he won’t prod or poke, but he will gently coax the answer out of him with raised eyebrows and copious withholding of blankets until James finally spills whatever’s on his mind. Sometimes he has the best solutions, and sometimes he has pretty shit solutions, but at least they make James laugh. Most of the time, though, he just listens. He’s attentive. He watches James and lets him talk and takes it all in with his head tilted in that curious way that James loves about him. </p><p>Roxanne reaches out across the kitchen floor and kicks him. He kicks her back without thinking. She pulls a face over her tea. He pulls a much uglier one back, and she snorts reluctantly into her mug, her laughter lighting up the kitchen. </p><p>The door slams open, and Domi bursts in, a whirlwind of energy. She’s still got her music playing, mouthing along to the beat as she stretches her shoulders in the doorway, kicking it shut when someone wolf-whistles in the outside hallway of the flat. James would offer to Jinx whoever dared to cat-call his cousin, but Domi would pat his cheek sweetly and then knock him on his arse for insinuating that he could Jinx better than her. </p><p>Besides, the only person gallant enough to walk her to her door and irritating enough to then wolf-whistle at her is Lysander Scamander. James has been forbidden from Hexing, Cursing, or Jinxing Lysander Scamander until further notice, lest he suffer the wrath of his baby brother’s grumpy pout, so he keeps his wand in his pocket. </p><p>“You,” Roxanne says mildly, when Domi spots them and waves. </p><p>“Me!” Domi agrees, bounding over and making grabby-hands for Roxanne’s tea. “I thought you’d be asleep for a bit longer!”</p><p>“James woke me up because he was having a crisis,” Roxanne grumbles. “Didn't I tell you to clean your shit up?”</p><p>“It’s not a crisis,” James protests, but it goes unheard. </p><p>“Sorry, Roxy,” Domi says, flashing her an apologetic peace sign. “I’ll clean it up right away, okay? Just as soon as I shower. What was James’s crisis about?”</p><p>“No idea. He was banging around the kitchen, opening all the cupboards and pretending like he knows how to clean.”</p><p>“I wasn’t having a crisis,” James says, a little more firmly. “I’m just… thinking about something, that’s all. And I do know how to clean, thanks very much.” He grins at her. “It’s just way more fun to watch you do it and complain about how everyone else is a heathen.”</p><p>“A fucking heathen,” Domi corrects sagely. </p><p>“You both suck,” Roxanne complains.</p><p>But she smiles reluctantly as she takes her mug back, and even if nothing’s really solved, James still feels better.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>iii.</em>
</p><p>“Jamie.”</p><p>It’s funny how one word in one particular voice can set James alight with happiness and also send dread skittering down his spine. It’s even funnier when it’s his own name causing such spirited reactions. Except it really isn’t funny at all, and neither is the slight frown on Teddy’s face when James turns to look at him. </p><p>“Hey there, boyfriend O’ mine,” James says. “You’re home early.”</p><p>Teddy pauses, one foot on the living room rug. “Is that a problem?”</p><p>It’s not an accusation. It’s not even particularly argumentative. It sounds like he’s genuinely asking, like if James said ‘<em>yes, actually Ted, it’s a problem that you’ve come back to your own home earlier than usual,</em>’ he’d Apparate to the Wandmakers and clock back in for another fourty-five minutes. It makes James’s stomach twist with the silly sweetness of it all. He sits upright and scrambles onto his knees, leaning over the arm of the sofa to make a kissy-face in Teddy’s direction. </p><p>“Did you want something?” Teddy deadpans, though his mouth twitches. “The remote, maybe?”</p><p>James pouts. He’s about to say, ‘You know I want a kiss,’ but then a flicker of uncertainty rushes through him. Maybe Teddy doesn’t want to kiss him. Or maybe he does, but not on James’s command. Maybe he wants a little space and not to be slobbered all over the second he comes home. </p><p>It’s not often that James second-guesses himself. He wasn’t built like that. He rushes headlong into most things, diving and letting himself freefall until he either hits the ground with a bump or bounces. It’s never occurred to him to slow down any aspect of his life. He doesn’t really know how. It’s a new feeling, hesitating to the point of stopping still and not being able to jump back into action again. He can’t say that he likes it. </p><p>“James,” Teddy says, breaking him out of his thoughts. </p><p>James looks up. Teddy’s doing that head tilt again. He’s still got his work robes on. They’re a deep, dark purple, trimmed with silver, and they fit him so nicely that James could cry. One of the sleeves pools at his elbow when he brings his hand up to cup James’s cheek, stepping forward smoothly to kiss him on the mouth. </p><p>Kissing Teddy is always like holding something very fragile. Like pinching glass between his fingers. It gives him a surge of adrenaline and it settles him at the same time, stealing his focus, rooting him in the moment. It’s impossible to think about anything else when Teddy is kissing him. </p><p>“Hi,” Teddy says, still close enough to taste the words. “You’re thinking too hard. That doesn’t end well for me or our house.”</p><p>James pecks him once more and backs away, the uncertainty dissipating. Teddy’s a stubborn, strong-willed guy, and if he didn't want to do something, he wouldn’t. James has countless evidence stored away in his mind of all the times Teddy really <em>loved</em> kissing him, and second-guessing himself only means he’s missing out on making even more evidence. He leans in and kisses Teddy again, unable to help it, and grins when Teddy chuckles. </p><p>“Wanna talk about it?” Teddy asks. </p><p>“Nah,” James says. “Think I’ve got it sorted. I’ll let you know if I need your wisdom.”</p><p>“Sounds good to me. Wanna order curry?”</p><p>There’s a pleading, hopeful note in Teddy’s voice, and James laughs as he summons the take-out menu.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>iv.</em>
</p><p>James still isn’t sure why Scorpius insists on ringing him every few days instead of biting the bullet and texting Albus. He says as much, and Scorpius makes an aggrieved sound over the phone. </p><p>“It’s complicated,” Scorpius says. “And I have been texting him, thank you, and we’ve been having very civil conversations. So there.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, that’s what everyone looks for in a relationship. Civility.”</p><p>There’s a lot of soft rustling down the line. James finishes his weary trek across the living room and collapses back against the sofa, the springs complaining under his weight. The cushions propped up all around him don't allow for much movement, but at least it keeps him from jostling his ankle too much. Or it’s supposed to, anyway, but James hasn’t ever been one for sitting still for long periods at a time, and life is better when you can sneak off to make a cup of tea when you want one.</p><p>“If it really does bother you, me calling all the time,” Scorpius ventures quietly, “I don’t have to. I know we’re not—not that close, I suppose, but I just—”</p><p>“Hey, no,” James says, propping himself up on one elbow. “Don’t be daft. And what does ‘not close’ mean? Pretty sure I’m the one that carried your arse back to the tent when you passed out on our last camping trip, and not my miserable sulky little brother. How much closer do we need to be? I can come up there and hug you right now if that’s what it takes, don’t test me, Scorpius Malfoy.” </p><p>Scorpius dissolves into soft laughter, giggling over the phone. </p><p>“I mean it,” James warns him, grinning. “I’m a big boy now, so I can Apparate and everything.” </p><p>“Oh, please don't. Not that I don't want to see you, but you’re supposed to be sitting down. I don't feel like facing the wrath of your family if you bugger up your ankle trying to hug me.”</p><p>“My family loves you.”</p><p>“And Teddy loves you, a lot, so I don't think I’d survive whatever Itching Jinx he’d dish out.”</p><p>James snorts, wriggling further into the cushions. “Teddy wouldn’t even notice. I think he’s been taking extra hours to avoid me. Not that I blame him.”</p><p>That’s not even slightly true, and James doesn’t believe it for a second. He gets mopey when he’s got too much time on his hands. All that time spent spitting around and waiting for his bones to stop whining about being briefly separated makes him think too much. The thoughts jerk around in his brain like popcorn kernels. It’s all a result of too much thinking, and he knows it, but it makes him feel better to complain for a minute. </p><p>“I very much doubt that.”</p><p>“How do you know?” James asks, just to be contrary. </p><p>“Call me a fool if I’m not making any sense, but do you think it’s possible that Teddy might actually enjoy spending time with you?” Scorpius muses. “You know, considering he decided to date you, and loves you very much, and actively enjoys your company. I just think it might be worth looking into.”</p><p>“Call <em>me</em> a fool, but don’t you think this whole song and dance with Albus—”</p><p>“We aren’t talking about me,” Scorpius says primly. </p><p>James rolls his eyes, but he does it fondly. </p><p>“Seriously, what the hell is going on there? I’m starting to get worried.”</p><p>That’s another lie. If there’s one thing that James is sure about in life, it’s that no matter how far apart they drift, or how lost they get, Albus and Scorpius will always find their way back to each other again. It’s written in some distant cosmic decree that only the very loveliest of gods are allowed to peek at. He isn’t worried, because they’ll be fine, and he already knows it’s more of a petty argument rather than a serious problem, but damn if he isn’t curious.</p><p>“Didn't you say Teddy set you up on the sofa and threatened you with fire if you moved?” Scorpius continues, ignoring his questions. “And isn’t he cooking you dinner later on? And didn't he come running across the pitch during your match when you fell and injured yourself?”</p><p>James allows the memory to seep back in, grinning aimlessly at the ceiling. It was a nice moment. Not nice thanks to the agony flaring in his broken leg; the damage had been whittled down to merely a sprained ankle after several rounds of healing, but the pain was still fresh in his mind. But it was pretty nice to look up through bleary eyes and see Teddy pelting it across the pitch, his steps sure and quick against the slick mud, his hair gone dark with worry.</p><p>“He did do those things, yeah,” James says. “He’s kinda great, isn’t he?”</p><p>“Kinda?”</p><p>“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of my grammar or asking me to elaborate on Teddy’s best features and traits. I can definitely do the second one. For example, did you know—”</p><p>“Probably, because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”</p><p>“—that Teddy is physically incapable of seeing a stray cat without sitting down in the street and trying to pet it? Because he is. He gave one his pork pie that he bought for lunch. Not sure that was good for the cat, but it was really cute, and I’ve got a million pictures. When we went for this picnic thing, he even—”</p><p>Scorpius, to his credit, listens to the monologue with good grace, offering soft hums and only the very faintest sighs. He doesn’t hang up the phone or complain. That doesn’t mean James cuts him any slack, of course. It’s his fault that James is having a minor crisis, after all, so he can suffer.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>v.</em>
</p><p>James never realised how much time and effort went into being a Healer. He knew it in a vague sense, like how you know it must be awful to be in a war, or how growing a human being inside you must be an exhausting time. </p><p>Living with Roxanne forces him to face the reality of it every day. </p><p>She’s a Healer in Training, even though she’s got a few years under her belt now. It takes a long time. When she comes back from work late one night, James is putting the finishing touches on a Quidditch play, half-buried in Teddy’s jumper and eating a slice of cheesecake with his fingers. The door slams shut a little too hard for the hour, and he looks up only to wince immediately. </p><p>“Merlin, you look … lovely. But tired. Definitely tired.”</p><p>Roxanne glares at him, but a hazy sort of bone-deep tiredness keeps her from being too cross. </p><p>“Don't have the energy to be mad at you,” she says. “Please tell me the shower’s free.”</p><p>“Dom went to a club like an hour ago, and I smell divine.” James points down the hallway. “Take your time, I’ll heat something up for you to eat.”</p><p>She comes back after twenty minutes, a tub of conditioner levitating in the air in front of her. James hands her a bowl of paella, only to yank it back at the last minute.</p><p>“What the hell happened to your hands?”</p><p>Roxanne flexes her swollen, puffy fingers, and grimaces. “There’s this patient whose Curse spreads through skin to skin contact, and I was on their floor today. We’ve got specialised gloves, but the charms irritate the skin if you wear them for too long.” She waves stiffly. “Guess who wore them for too long.”</p><p>“Go and sit down,” James says, pushing her towards the living room sofa. “You want me to feed you?”</p><p>She swats at him ineffectively, landing on the cushions like a puppet with cut strings. </p><p>“I can feed myself. I’ll just go slow. I’m not looking forward to putting conditioner in my hair though.”</p><p>It takes a bit of manoeuvring, but eventually James manages to sit on the back of the couch while Roxanne slumps in front of him, eating her paella in clumsy bites while he works conditioner through her wet curls. He’s careful and attentive, soothing away some of the tension in her scalp and temples while he’s there, and he’s braiding it all loosely by the time Domi stumbles in, giddy and covered in glitter. </p><p>“Hi guys,” she says, leaning against the wall and toeing off her heels. “I didn't know you’d be up still.”</p><p>Roxanne bites into a lump of chorizo, eyeing her over the top of her floating fork. </p><p>“You’re speaking just fine, so you’re not drunk, but you’re all flushed and giggly. What happened?”</p><p>“It’s called having fun, Rox,” Domi says, rolling her eyes. But her cheeks are flushed pink, and she totters off to fetch a glass of water. Roxanne cranes her head and meets James’s eyes, mouthing: <em>which girl?</em></p><p>“Could be a guy,” James murmurs, in the interest of fairness. “She did mention that other journalist that’s come down from Peru.”</p><p>“Nah, she had a <em>House Hinkypunk</em> stamp on her hand. She only ever goes to that club to meet girls.”</p><p>“As a matter of fact, Roxanne,” Domi says, slipping back into the room, “I went there to meet an acquaintance, and they wouldn’t like to be referred to as a girl, thank you very much.”</p><p>Roxanne holds her hands up in apology, and Domi collapses on the armchair, smiling at them both, her eyes bright. She presses a cool glass of water to her flushed cheek. </p><p>“You guys having fun?”</p><p>“Massages from me are the definition of fun,” James says, wiping the last of the conditioner off on his sweatpants. “You missed out on the spa experience because you were smooching your acquaintance, which means you have to tell us all about it.”</p><p>“There was no smooching,” Domi says, but her grin outs her as a liar. “Roxanne doesn’t like hearing about smooching anyway,”</p><p>“I just don't see the appeal.”</p><p>“That’s because you’ve got a crush on Lorcan, and Lorcan doesn’t like smooching.”</p><p>“I haven’t had a crush on Lorcan for years.” Roxanne scrunches up her nose. “He’s great, but he looks like the Milky Bar kid.”</p><p>James almost dry-heaves with laughter, hugging a cushion to his chest. Domi slaps both hands over her mouth and giggles, falling back against the armchair. Roxanne watches them both roll around with that particular glint in her eye: it means she loves them, but she also thinks they’re very stupid. </p><p>“Oh, that’s mean,” Domi says, breathless. “Mean, mean, mean. Oh, but you’re not wrong either—and he even got those new glasses—”</p><p>She cuts herself off, giggling helplessly again. </p><p>“Do Lysander next,” James says. “I’ll pay you.”</p><p>“Hey!” Domi says, sitting up, still gasping for breath. “Lysander’s not so bad. He’s sarcastic, but he’s also kinda shy, you know? You just don't like him because he’s got that thing with Al and Scorpius.”</p><p>“It’s not a thing!”</p><p>Roxanne looks between the two of them, intrigued. “What is it then? I’ve missed out on all the news.”</p><p>Domi shrugs. “I don't think any of them know, to be honest. But there’s definitely something there. They’ve all had mushy feelings for each other for ages. Something will come of it once they sit down and actually talk!” She narrows her eyes at him, pointing playfully across the room. “Which means you need to be nice to him.”</p><p>James holds up his hands in surrender, the pillow falling into his lap. </p><p>“It’s not like I’m going to fight him on sight,” James says. “I just want them to sort out their shit.”</p><p>“Oh, like you can talk. How’s Teddy?”</p><p>“He’s as handsome as ever, thanks.”</p><p>Domi fans her face, draping herself over the arm of the chair. “Very handsome. Don't let that one go, Jamie-boy.” She keeps sliding backwards over the arm until her hair brushes the floor, her spine bent at an awkward angle, dangling there like a charm on a chain. “I don't know what you’re worried about, anyway. He clearly loves you. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I tried to have a conversation with him at Gran’s the other day and he was too busy watching you walk across the room.”</p><p>“I do have a pretty nice arse,” James muses, as though he isn’t red-faced at the thought of Teddy watching him. “It’s no surprise he couldn’t tear his eyes away. I’m pretty sure I wore those jeans on purpose.”</p><p>“That’s not surprising either,” Roxanne mutters. </p><p>“But it’s not about him loving me,” James says, waving a hand. “I just want to make sure he knows.” He groans, letting his head flop back. “Why are we talking about this? This whole thing is so stupid.”</p><p>“Very,” Domi agrees. </p><p>“It’s Scorpius’s fault.”</p><p>“It’s not,” Roxanne says, chuckling under her breath. “You’re just not as good at talking as you’ve always claimed to be. And considering Teddy is the master of avoiding serious conversations, you’re gonna have to get over that and go first.”</p><p>“Otherwise we’ll have to have you killed for disturbing our rest at all hours,” Domi adds. </p><p>James pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have I really been that bad?”</p><p>“Not bad,” Roxanne says, softly. “It’s just weird because you never really get anxious. Not out loud, anyway. But the sooner you talk to him, the sooner you’ll figure it out and stop feeling jittery.”</p><p>“Like a sack of pogo sticks,” Domi says, nodding solemnly in agreement. </p><p>James snorts lightly. A sack of pogo sticks is a pretty good phrase to describe the way he’s been bouncing all over the place lightly, wanting to throw himself at Teddy and getting caught up in his own head at the last minute. </p><p>“I’ll keep it in mind then,” he promises. “But for now I want to hear smooching stories.”</p><p>Domi snickers, and Roxanne groans, and James smiles triumphantly as their slumber party officially begins.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>vi.</em>
</p><p>They’re talking quietly after dinner when James brings up the topic, and Teddy does what he always does: surprises him.</p><p>“You’re talking about Love Languages, right?”</p><p>James lets the sponge flop in the sink. “You know about them?”</p><p>“Vic got really into them a few years ago.” Teddy sips his beer thoughtfully. “I remember she got upset because she realised hers was Gift Giving, and she didn't want people to think she was shallow. Or materialistic, or whatever. She already gets enough flack for the Veela thing, and for daring to have more than one boyfriend her whole life.”</p><p>“Tossers.” James scowls, rigorously scrubbing at the pan. “Nobody cares when it’s some hot Quidditch bloke shacking up with a bunch of different women each week. Remind me to send her some of those chocolate things she likes. I get a discount from Honeydukes.”</p><p>“Hot Quidditch guys?”</p><p>James tilts his head up, a small grin making its way over his face. “Is that jealousy I detect, Tedward?”</p><p>Teddy shrugs with so much forced casualness that it’s a wonder he doesn’t break something, carrying the weight of all that deception around. </p><p>“Didn't know you were into Quidditch guys, that’s all. You were saying about Love Languages?”</p><p>It gives him a little thrill to know they’ve come this far. It always used to be James that was the jealous one, James that stuck to Teddy’s heels and pretended not to need his approval, James who got a tight, sick feeling in his stomach whenever Vic and Teddy kissed or held hands or shared little secrets together in the corner. He remembers wanting that so fiercely that he had to go out into the garden and fly until his face was numb, until he couldn’t feel anything but his heart pounding in his ears, until the ache had thawed. Even thinking about it now makes his chest throb faintly with an old, desperately wistful sort of envy. </p><p>He used to want it so badly, and now he’s got it, and now Teddy is the one that gets jealous. But Teddy is never going to have to feel the unsure ache, because James will never give him reason to feel it. James isn’t going to let him hurt like that. It was never, ever Teddy’s fault; things like timing and universal whims are usually out of one man’s grasp, even a man as skilled and good as Teddy, and that was no exception. But it still hurt. And James isn’t going to let him hurt like that.</p><p>“Actually, Scorpius was saying about Love Languages,” he says, clearing his throat. “Practically regurgitated his whole lecture to me. But it got me thinking about yours.”</p><p>Very slowly, Teddy lowers his beer, straightening up from his slouch. </p><p>“Is that what you’ve been doing all week?”</p><p>“What?” James asks, jerking the sponge about again, sloshing water over his sleeve. </p><p>“You’ve been really weird all week. You stopped kissing me the minute I walked through the door, and when I went to give you a hug the other day I thought you were going to cry.”</p><p>James cringes. It’s possible he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. Still, when faced with embarrassment or humiliation, the only thing to do is walk head-first into the fray and embrace the unsubtle red flush that crawls across his face. He grins instead of shrinking away. </p><p>“That’s technically a compliment,” James points out. “You’ve got hug-giving skills worth crying over.”</p><p>“Jamie,” Teddy says. </p><p>“Alright, don't twist my arm.”</p><p>There’s a little snort from the peanut gallery, but James ignores it, diligently attacking the next dish. </p><p>“So I was trying to figure out what your love language is, since I’ve been operating under the assumption that everyone loves physical touch, like me, and I was worried you might not know that I loved you.”</p><p>Teddy suffers from some violent sort of jerk, a spasm of bewildered horror. He puts the beer down clumsily, the clack of glass hitting the side a direct mirror of the <em>thump</em> James’s heart does, a little panicked one blue-haired man pantomime of <em>no-what-how-can-you-think-that.</em> </p><p>“And I was also worried,” James says, speaking louder to cover up whatever nice thing Teddy is about to say to try and reassure him, “that you might’ve been making yourself be all touchy-feely because of me. So I was trying to dial it back, you know. Even though you are very irresistible, and I don't know how you expect me to keep my hands off you.”</p><p>He dances them briefly in the air for emphasis, water dripping on the side. </p><p>Teddy hesitates, squinting at him curiously. “When you say physical touch,” he says, “do you just mean it literally, or do you mean Physical Touch, like the love language?”</p><p>“I love that you can make things sound so important. Like you’ve capitalized them with your mouth.”</p><p>“Jamie.” </p><p>“I meant the love language. Why?”</p><p>“Because Physical Touch isn’t your love language.”</p><p>James dithers between finding Teddy’s certainty amusing or vaguely offensive. </p><p>“Oi, why’d you say it so seriously, like you know better than me? It’s my love language. I think I’d know.” He wiggles his wet fingers. “Everyone knows I’m practically a Grindylow when it comes to hugs.”</p><p>“You are,” Teddy agrees. “It makes sleeping together very interesting.”</p><p>James wiggles his eyebrows too, unable to resist a leer, but Teddy merely huffs, indulging him with fond eyes. </p><p>“Alright, so we agree that I’m a fiend for hugs,” James says, waving a hand airily. “But you still think it’s not my love language.”</p><p>“I’m not sure how much stock I put in this stuff,” Teddy says thoughtfully. “It’s a bit like those personality quizzes in the Quibbler you like. But if I had to pick, I’d say you show love through acts of service.”</p><p>“Acts of service?”</p><p>Teddy looks very pointedly at the dishes in the sink. </p><p>“These are just chores.” James frowns, going back to rinsing off a mug. “Everyone does those. I don't think it’s got anything to do with a love language.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re doing them for me even though I usually wash up after you’ve cooked, all because I was tired after work.” Teddy picks his beer up again and taps the bottle against his lip. “And what happened when I was <em>at</em> work? Oh, yeah. I got a Patronus from you, saying you’d taken that jumper back to the store, the one that was too big. And didn't you learn a darning spell so you could fix up all my socks?”</p><p>“You complain if your feet are cold,” James mutters. </p><p>“Mhm.” Teddy smiles lightly. “How many times have you put conditioner in Roxie’s hair when her hands are too sore from Healing practice? And how many times have you done broomstick maintenance for everyone in your team? You spend eight hours on the phone with your little brother’s boyfriend every evening to make him feel less homesick.”</p><p>“Okay, now you’re just listing nice stuff,” James says, exasperated. “Everyone does nice stuff for each other! That’s how you show love!”</p><p>Teddy blinks at him. James blinks back, withdrawing his hands from the sink. </p><p>“Oh,” he says. “Oh my God.” </p><p>Teddy starts laughing, that charming little raspy chuckle that pisses James off because it sounds all hoarse and lovely, like fudge cake you can hear. He sags against the kitchen counter, mouth turned out in a pout. </p><p>“Well, how was I supposed to know?” James whines. “You should have told me.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you love touching me so much that you figured that was your <em>entire</em> love language.”</p><p>“Can you blame me?” James asks, throwing in a wink. </p><p>Teddy rolls his eyes, hiding his grin ineffectively behind his beer. “It’s mutual, I promise. Even when you’re sick and gross.”</p><p>“I’m never gross, not even when I’m sick. I’m delightfully dewy at most.”</p><p>Teddy spends a good half a minute peeling the label off the beer bottle just so he can throw it at James. James snickers, accepting his fate as the label lands in his hair. </p><p>“So neither of us have physical touch as our love language. And you don't mind hugs or kisses or holding my gross hand then?”</p><p>“I love holding your gross hand,” Teddy tells him, softening slightly. “Next time, why don't you just ask me instead of stressing yourself out? I promise the answer won’t hurt.”</p><p>James clears his throat. He has to turn back to the sink to take his mind off the weight of those words. </p><p>“Well, what’s <em>your</em> love language then? Since you know mine so well.”</p><p>Teddy looks at him. It’s a different sort of looking, not the kind that speaks of seeing but the kind that speaks of knowing. It isn’t a tilted head and a curious gaze, but there is something undoubtedly thoughtful about the way he takes in all of James at once, surveying him with the studious affection reserved for watermarked photos and books you used to read when you were a kid. </p><p>“I’m pretty sure it’s you.” </p><p>James wheezes and chucks his sponge at Teddy. It’s not the most elegant reaction, but it certainly breaks the stillness. Soap and suds go everywhere. Teddy neatly dodges the missile, but the floor isn’t so lucky, and the sponge slaps against the tiles. A puddle forms under the pathetic bit of material. Teddy blinks at the floor and then tilts into the counter, laughing so hard he doesn’t even make any noise. Just little huffs and wheezes while he tries to catch his breath. </p><p>“You can’t just say stuff like that,” James complains, but he feels inordinately pleased. “I’m supposed to be the smooth one, and you’re supposed to fall at my feet. You’re ruining my reputation, Ted.”</p><p>“I can call you an idiot if that makes you feel better,” Teddy says, still chuckling as he pulls James close, not minding his sudsy hands. “Seriously though, did you have to throw the only soaking wet thing in here?”</p><p>“It was that or the plate.”</p><p>“You could have just come over here and kissed me,” Teddy suggests. “That would have worked.”</p><p>James tries it out, and it turns out Teddy is right. Annoyingly. He’s a little taller than James, and every time they have a disagreement, he grows a further two inches, just to prove a point. James doesn’t have to stand on tip-toes to kiss him, but he enjoys the feeling of getting closer anyway, reaching out with his heart and mouth and having it returned softly, sweetly. Teddy thumbs his cheek and calls him sweetheart. It’s good. It's nothing like holding glass; what they've got isn't fragile. The old ache throbs and twists into something almost unbearable: loving someone and getting to have them is a different sort of hurt, the ache of always wanting to get closer somehow. </p><p>“You’re right,” James says, when he draws back. “Should’ve tried that sooner, it would have fixed all our problems.” He glances down pointedly between them, and waggles his eyebrows despite the fact that everything is family-friendly. “Maybe not <em>all</em> our problems.”</p><p>“Calling it a problem isn’t going to make me want to solve it with you.”</p><p>James whines and falls all over him, draping himself over Teddy like a poncho. Eventually Teddy gives in, laughing indulgently as he catches his jaw and draws him back up for another kiss. </p><p>“One thing,” Teddy says. “Why <em>do</em> you get a discount from Honeydukes?”</p><p>“I already told you, I’m a hot Quidditch guy, Ted. We can get whatever we want.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? And what do you want?”</p><p>“Thought that’d be obvious by now.” </p><p>“If you say Honeydukes chocolate, I’m going to…”</p><p>James tucks his bad jokes in his pocket for later, and leans in for another kiss.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>vii.</em>
</p><p>The phone call with Scorpius happens in the morning instead of in the evening. It’s much shorter, too. James asks what prompted the change in routine, and Scorpius sounds flushed and delighted when he replies. </p><p>“Albus and Lysander and I are going to video call later, so I won’t be able to phone you! I’ve got to try and work out the thingy-ma-jig, but I think I can do it. Your Grandad offered to give me a hand.”</p><p>“You’ve been going to a Muggle Uni for a whole year now,” James says incredulously, as he drags his lunch out of the fridge. “You’re telling me you don't know how to video call someone? You’re using a phone right now.” He triple-takes, pulling the phone away briefly to gape at it. “My Granddad offered to help? You’re not seriously gonna accept, are you? I love the man, but he knows more about mushrooms than Muggles, even though it’s his job.”</p><p>Scorpius’s reply is appropriately snippy and flustered, but James barely hears it. He’s distracted by the weight of his lunchbox. He frowns, putting it down beside the Quidditch gear he needs to pack up. He’s got twenty minutes before he needs to Apparate to the pitch, and Em will kill him with a Quaffle if he’s even a second late. But he spares a few seconds to prise the lid off the box and peer inside. </p><p>He expects to find a bunch of shrunken fruit and the sandwich he forgot to take out last night. </p><p>But that’s not quite what he’s faced with. </p><p>Instead, there’s a note on top of his perfectly packed lunch. He picks it up and glances underneath: the sandwich inside is crisp and fresh, layered beautifully, and each separate compartment houses plenty of goodies. There’s even one of his boring nutrition bars tucked in there, with a sad face drawn in marker on the packaging that’s so depressingly expressive it makes him snort. </p><p>“James?” Scorpius asks. “Are you okay?”</p><p>James clears his throat, the lump there making itself known suddenly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” he says, shaking his head. “What were you saying?”</p><p>Quietly, while Scorpius chats fondly in his ear, he unfolds the note and reads the message written there in Teddy’s neat handwriting. </p><p>
  <em>I’m still pretty sure you’re my love language, but let’s try some of these out and see what sticks, huh? We’ve got plenty of time to find a winner. I thought I’d start with yours, since you know how to love so well.</em>
</p><p>James smiles to himself, ducking his head as warmth fills him from head to toe. </p><p>“I’m more than alright,” James murmurs to himself. </p><p>
  <em>See you when I get home. Love, Teddy.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please go and have a peek at the other items in this little Love Languages fest! Or have a go at creating something yourself - it's open til the 21st! Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!</p><p>Also Scorpius/Lysander/Albus is my new jam, my absolute chutney, my cheese and chive. God-tier, so I had to include.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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